


blue skies forever

by arysa13



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 06, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24819766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: “Well,” he says. “If I stay at your place, we’re obviously going to have sex, and—”“I’m not going to force you to have sex with me if you don’t want to,” Lisbon huffs.“Just let me finish,” Jane says. Lisbon waits, lips pursed, staring him down. It’s hard not to be a little offended. “I feel like I’m not at my full potential,” he admits, gesturing to his wounded ankle.aka Jane makes Lisbon wait until his ankle is healed before he'll have sex with her.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 12
Kudos: 136





	blue skies forever

**Author's Note:**

> my first jisbon fic, after my recent rewatch.

Missed calls from Abbott, Cho, and Fischer decorate the screen of Lisbon’s phone, as she and Jane walk the halls of the Miami airport. Well, Lisbon walks. Jane kind of hobbles on his crutches.

They’ve finally been given the all clear, allowed to return to Austin. Lisbon had of course been free to go the whole time, but it’s not like she was leaving _without him_. Not after—her stomach swoops as she replays the scene of him telling her he loves her over in her head. She glances at him, smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

“What?” he says, noticing her look.

Lisbon shakes her head. As if he doesn’t know. “How are you going to get up the steps of the Airstream with those crutches?”

“I’ll manage.” 

“I don’t know,” Lisbon says. “You might need to come and stay with me until your ankle has healed.”

His eyes twinkle. “Is that right?”

Lisbon laughs. “Come on,” she says, ignoring Jane’s shit-eating grin. Quite the change from the intense vulnerability she’d seen from him earlier.

They board the plane, Lisbon and a flight attendant helping Jane with his crutches, Jane on the aisle seat and Lisbon in the middle, the window seat occupied by an elderly man, already asleep.

Lisbon turns her phone off, and Jane does the same. Their co-workers have already waited this long, they can wait a little longer. And to be honest, she’s not entirely prepared to face them after everything that happened. Deep down she knows there probably won’t be any judgement, but she can’t help but feel embarrassed about the whole Pike fiasco. Was she really going to run off and marry him?

“Hey,” Jane says, startling her out of her thoughts. “It’s going to be okay.”

Lisbon nods. She doesn’t know if he knows exactly what she’s thinking, or just picking up on her uncertainty, but she appreciates it all the same.

“Yeah,” she nods. She knows that. She just feels a little idiotic beneath the euphoria of finally having Jane admit his feelings to her—and of finally getting to feel his lips on hers. “You must think I’m so stupid for agreeing to marry Marcus.”

“You actually agreed to marry him?”

“I was upset.”

“You agreed to marry someone because you were upset? Lisbon,” he says. He’s got that mock-disappointment voice on, but he’s only teasing. She loves the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.

“Shut up,” she groans. “It’s your fault.”

His smile drops. “I know,” he says, quietly. “I know, I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s okay,” Lisbon says quickly. She knows he’s sorry. She’s heard him apologise to her a million times, but never quite so sincerely as this. “I know.”

“The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you,” he says. 

“I know,” Lisbon repeats. She figures they have a lot to talk through, but they don’t have to do it now, here.

Jane gives her a remorseful smile, and slips his hand into hers, where it rests on the armrest between them. Lisbon’s heart stutters, just a little, warmth flooding through her at his gentle, comforting touch.

“I love you,” he whispers. Lisbon smiles, shyly. She doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of hearing it.

“I know.”

He keeps his hand in hers for the rest of the flight.

-

She takes him back to his Airstream in the end, despite her offer. For a moment she worries it’s because he regrets it already—maybe he wishes he’d just let her go. Maybe it’s all too much for him, maybe he’s not ready for this after all. Maybe he tricked himself into thinking he loves her, but in reality, the idea of sleeping with her repulses him.

He manages the steps on his crutches with some effort, and Lisbon follows him inside. He leans the crutches against a wall, and falls heavily onto the bed. Lisbon looks down at him, and he meets her eye. She wishes she could see inside his brain the way he can see inside hers.

“You gonna be okay?” she asks. No point in sticking around if he doesn’t want her there. She should get home anyway, there’s a lot to take care of now that she’s not moving to DC.

Jane cocks his head. “You’re not staying?”

“Well—I mean, I have some unpacking to do, and—you want me to stay?”

Jane nods. “Course I want you to stay. Why wouldn’t I want you to stay?”

“I didn’t want to assume,” Lisbon shrugs. “You didn’t want to come to my place.”

“Well, I thought I’d need some clean clothes. And a shower.”

“I have a shower at my house,” Lisbon points out. “And a washing machine.” Jane still looks hesitant, an unusual look for him, and Lisbon knows there’s something else. “What is it?” Lisbon probes. The only way she ever gets anything out of this man. “Come on, spit it out.”

“Well,” he says. “If I stay at your place, we’re obviously going to have sex, and—”

“I’m not going to force you to have sex with me if you don’t want to,” Lisbon huffs.

“Just let me finish,” Jane says. Lisbon waits, lips pursed, staring him down. It’s hard not to be a _little_ offended. “I feel like I’m not at my full potential,” he admits, gesturing to his wounded ankle. Lisbon fights back a smile.

“Last I checked, ankles are not the most vital organ when it come to love-making.”

“I love it when you say love-making.”

“I thought you might.”

“Still,” Jane says, with a shrug. “I’d prefer to wait until I’m at my full capacity.”

Lisbon sits down on the bed next to him. “You could use it as an excuse, in case things don’t go as well as you’d hoped.”

“Lisbon,” he says, offended. “You think I’m going to do anything less than blow your mind?”

“It’s been known to happen,” Lisbon says. She glances at him, watching her. Her heart thrums. Part of her can’t believe they’re talking like this—she’s never shared any part of her sex life with him, always felt like that was one thing that was off limits. And now she’s talking about having sex _with him_. She’s acting cool about it, sure, but under the surface she burns for him, wishing he’d kiss her already. “What’s stopping us from having sex here?” she asks.

“Not romantic enough,” Jane says. “I’m going to seduce you properly.”

“Romantic dinner, candles, rose petals, that kind of thing?”

“Something like that,” Jane grins. He kisses her then, and Lisbon laughs against his mouth before kissing him back. She can’t remember the last time she felt so giddily happy, like a school girl with a crush. It’s almost embarrassing.

“Okay, we’ll wait,” Lisbon agrees, pulling away. The way Jane is looking at her makes her stomach flip over, and she’s already regretting the decision to wait. “How long do we have to wait again?”

“Should be about a week if I don’t do anything stupid.”

“Well, for once in your life, don’t do anything stupid.”

-

Lisbon is on leave for two weeks, so she can get her things in order after the Pike fiasco, and Jane has time off until his ankle has healed properly. Lisbon spends most of her time at her own place, undoing weeks of preparation for moving to DC. She _wants_ to be with Jane, but it’s too much of a temptation—he refuses to do anything more than make out with her, and she’s beginning to feel like a repressed teenager again.

He’s probably doing it on purpose—winding her up, making her wait. Maybe it’s part of his seduction technique.

After a week of unpacking and sporadic make out sessions that always leave her aching for more, Lisbon has had enough. She doesn’t care if he’s not at his “full potential”, she will do all the work if she has to. But she’s tired of waiting.

She calls him, to tell him as much, and that she’s coming over and they’re having sex in his non-romantic trailer, bad ankle be damned.

He laughs at her, of course.

“It’s not funny,” she tells him, even though it kind of is. At least, when she’s not so sexually frustrated she’s sure she’ll see it as funny.

“No,” he agrees. “But there’s no need for that. I’m, uh, at your door.”

There’s a beat before Lisbon realises what he’s said. “Right now?” she asks.

A pause. “Yes.”

She goes to the door, not putting the phone down. She swings the door open, and he’s there, phone still to his ear. He smiles, and her knees go weak.

“Hi,” he says, pulling his phone away from his ear. Lisbon does the same.

“Hi,” she returns, a little more breathlessly than she would like.

“Can I come in?”

Lisbon nods, standing aside so he can brush past her and into her house. Her heart is pounding. She shuts the door with a gentle click. Jane turns to her, eyes studying her like she’s a piece of art he wants to memorise and hold in his mind forever.

“Hi,” he whispers again. He steps closer, leaning down to brush his lips against hers.

“Your ankle is all better?”

“Uh huh.”

He kisses her harder, and Lisbon tangles her arms around his neck, pushing herself into the kiss. His hands are on her waist, burning through her shirt.

“What about the romantic dinner?” she reminds him. “And the candles and rose petals?”

“We can do all that if you like.”

“No, I’m good,” Lisbon says, too quickly, maybe. He chuckles, and then he’s kissing her again, hands under her shirt this time, and Lisbon’s heart quickens. “Bedroom,” she breathes against his mouth.

She feels him smile, and then he’s hoisting her up, and she wraps her legs around him. God, he makes her feel young. They’re still kissing and smiling as he takes her to her bedroom.

He lays her down on the bed, his lips trailing from her mouth, across her jaw, and down to her neck.

“Jane,” she breathes.

“I think,” he says, between kisses. “You’d better call me Patrick in the bedroom.”

“Patrick,” Lisbon amends. His shirt comes off, with a little help from her, and then hers with it. His mouth moves hotly down her chest, between her breasts. With one hand he unclips her bra, while the other grips her thigh with surprising strength. 

“Teresa,” he murmurs, and Lisbon finds herself blushing, whether it’s at him kissing her breasts for the first time, or the intimate use of her first name, she’s not sure.

She reaches for the button on her jeans, fumbling with it before getting them undone, and Jane helps her peel them off. His fingers dance along her thigh, and he only hesitates a moment before letting his thumb press against the outside of her underwear, eliciting an embarrassing sound of pleasure from her mouth.

He strokes her through her panties, until she’s positively losing her mind. She grabs him by the wrist, the guides his hand into her underwear.

“Okay,” he says. He kisses her again, while his thumb finds her clit, his fingers slipping easily into her wetness.

She gasps as his fingers move inside her, her eyes fluttering shut. “Yes,” she moans. _Finally_ , is what she doesn’t say out loud.

He’s always been good with his hands—his tricks demand it—and it translates into the bedroom. Teasing at first, then urgent, then easing off again when she’s close, just to draw it out a little longer. And then he builds her back up again, tipping her over the edge with practised ease.

“Oh my god,” she groans as she clenches around his fingers, panting.

“Patrick will do just fine,” he says impishly.

She huffs out a half laugh, still on a high from her orgasm. “I knew you’d be like this in bed.”

“What?”

“Smug.”

He grins, and she looks up at his brilliant smile through a blissful haze. “So, you thought about it a lot, huh?”

“No,” Lisbon lies.

“Liar.” His grin grows even wider. “I could always tell when you’d been thinking about me naked.”

“You could not,” Lisbon snorts. “Now who’s the liar?”

“I could,” he insists. “You’d get this guilty look and you wouldn’t meet my eye.”

“Shut up.”

He kisses her, which effectively shuts both of them up. She toys with the waistband of his pants for a moment, then slowly undoes his pants. He shucks them to the floor, so they’re both in their underwear. He grinds against her, his hardness against the damp spot on her panties, and it sends a surge of want through her.

“Patrick,” she says, her voice husky with lust.

“I know,” he says. They move in tandem as they rid themselves of their last pieces of clothing, his first, and then hers.

His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. He kisses her, hungrier than before, messier. He cradles her in his arms as he sheaths himself inside her, both of them breathing hard, hearts beating rapidly in time with one another.

“Teresa,” he whispers, the closest thing to a prayer that’s ever slipped from his lips.

They move together, sweaty and desperate now, chasing release. Lisbon swears it’s never felt this good. Maybe it was all the waiting, a culmination of years of complicated feelings and pent up desire. Maybe it’s just him, or maybe it’s the two of them together.

She comes almost silently, tremors rocking through her body as she clutches at him. He joins her moments later, groaning softly as he spills into her.

He collapses, rolling off her so he doesn’t crush her, but keeping close enough to touch. She rolls onto her side, pressing herself up against him.

“Everything you imagined?” he asks, tracing circles on her shoulder with his index finger.

She shrugs. “You were okay. Always room for improvement.”

He looks vaguely amused, and she smirks cheekily at him. He moves his hand up to stroke her hair, and he grows serious all of a sudden.

“I love you,” he reminds her, and her heart does a sickening lurch.

“I know,” she whispers, kissing him.

She loves him too, though for now, the words stick in her throat. She doesn’t remember the last time she told a man she loved him—she certainly never told Marcus. That would’ve been a lie. She’s beginning to think she’s never _really_ been in love before. At least, not like this. It scares her, a little.

But she will tell him eventually, even if she’s sure he already knows it.


End file.
